


Someone Unique

by Plankto



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, fluff and spice a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plankto/pseuds/Plankto
Summary: "From the formal perspective, the case had come to an end. From the perspective of our private lives however, it was still ongoing. And so I feel obligated to tell this story to its actual end – even if the only way of doing so, is to write it down in my private journal only for me to read."---Based on a story from "Poirot Investigates", entitled "Star of The West". It's an aftermath of Hastings' argument with Poirot. The title is inspired by one of Pirot's more well known quotes, that comes from "Star of The West". The story itself elicted strong emotions in me while I was reading it and it was the first time, that I wanted to write a continuation of a official Poirot story.
Relationships: Arthur Hastings/Hercule Poirot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Someone Unique

**G** iven the delicate nature of my relationship with Poirot, I have to keep a lot of the details concerning our privet lives to myself, whilst writing my books. Officially, I used to enjoy my friend’s hospitality only for some period of my life, residing in a spare bedroom of his apartment until I found financial stability. When that time came, I moved a few streets away, into one of the older blocks (which was still in a jolly good shape, may I add). I used to move back in with Poirot on an occasion, when he was working on one of the more interesting cases. As someone, who prides myself with being the only person, who is allowed to write down my famous friend’s adventures I had to, obviously, stay close to him, in order to catch every detail of the ongoing investigation so that my account of the events stays as detailed and close to the truth as possible.

The above explanation is merely an example of the means I have to take, in order to keep discretion about our lives. However here, in my private journal, I am allowed to confess the truth (and the need to openly share my thoughts on the matter is the sole reason why I decided to start this journal). What is the truth, then? Here it is: Poirot and I have feelings of romantic nature for each other. My old flat, that I mentioned previously, had been empty for a few months. After our mutual infatuation has become clear Poirot insisted, that I stay with him in his apartment permanently. At first, I kept refusing out of modesty but eventually, I caved in. And so, Poirot’s home became my home as well. I kept ownership over my old flat, in order to keep appearances, resolutely paying rent every month. My clever friend however, thought out a much better plan.

Luckily for us, it just so happened, that Poirot’s neighbor, miss Garnett, recently got married and, after changing her surname to Faulkner, decided to move out and start her new, married life closer to the centre of London. Her old apartment, one floor below ours, was now unoccupied and Poirot has bought it as soon as it was possible. I strongly insisted on paying the rent myself, but Poirot didn’t want to hear any of it!

“ _Non non, mon amour! 1_ Everything that is mine, is yours as well.” He told me back then. “And our peace and safety are priceless. I will gladly keep paying this small sum.” Seeing, that I still feel guilty about this matter, he added “If you still feel bad about this, then how about you invite me for dinner today? As you are well aware by now, you are the one, who I can never say no to, _mon cher Arthur 2_.”

We did just that and celebrated the new stage of our relationship with a fancy dinner. That’s how I became a fictional resident of the third floor flat. Poirot’s idea, as always, was brilliant. Both apartments were located in near proximity of each other. When I was going outside, I had to pass ‘my apartment’ every time I was walking down the stairs. As a result, our neighbors kept seeing me walking down the third floor, as if I was simply leaving my flat. There was nothing unusual about this and so it was easier to keep an illusion of me and Poirot being merely friends, who were living separately.

Why am I describing this in such great detail? It’s because understanding our housing situation is crucial to understand the story, that I am about to tell. Some time ago, I was assisting Poirot in solving a case involving two diamonds: Star of the East and Star of the West. I detailed this case in one of my books. Towards the end of the investigation, I had an argument with Poirot… well fine, it wasn’t exactly an argument since I was the only one, who was being angry. In the book, I chose to end the story in this exact spot (I too like to be dramatic sometimes, although not nearly as much as Poirot does). From the formal perspective, the case had come to an end. From the perspective of our private lives however, it was still ongoing. And so I feel obligated to tell this story to its actual end – even if the only way of doing so, is to write it down in my private journal only for me to read.

Allow me to return to the events of that day and my argument with Poirot. If memory serves me right, the conversation went more or less, like this:

“You were making a complete fool out of me! From the very beginning!” I exclaimed in annoyance towards the man who still kept his stoic behavior: this has angered me even more. “It’s nice of you, that you’re trying to explain everything now. But everything has its limits!”

“You were enjoying yourself so much, that it would have been heartless of me to disillusion you.”

I felt a sting of pain in my chest.

“this isn’t fair! You went too far this time.”

“ _Mon Dieu! 3_ Your anger is uncalled for, _mon amour!_ ”

His ignorance of the problem agitated me so much, that I ended up acting impulsively. I told him, that I am fed up with him and marched out of his office, loudly shutting the door behind me. In fact, I had the urge to leave the apartment altogether and so I did.

I was so angry, that I forgot my coat. The autumn cold was quick to remind me about the forgotten garment. I did not intend to come back for it though: I should teach Poirot a lesson!- I thought- I was making an utter fool out of myself and instead of putting me out of my misery, he encouraged me to keep sinking even further! I won’t forgive him that easily…

To tell the truth, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went to the park, buying the evening paper on my way there. I sat on a bench and read for a while to kill the time. Eventually, I got so cold, that I couldn’t sit still anymore. Reluctantly, I got up and started to stumble down the alleyways, thinking about all the idiotic things I managed to do and say today during my supposed ‘investigation’. About all those theories, that I was so proud of, and which most likely seemed utterly ridiculous to Poirot. And yet, despite this, he allowed me to expand upon those nonsensical theories, only because I ‘was enjoying myself’. I don’t think that _I_ was the one who was enjoying _himself_ here…

…And then it occurred to me, that in all seriousness, Poirot probably wasn’t enjoying himself either. When I chose to converse with lady Yardly on his behalf during poirot’s absence, I complicated the matters. I wanted to play the role of a great detective and by doing so, I made the investigating job difficult for the _actual_ detective. Perhaps I should have told this woman to wait for Poirot’s return?

Now, when I calmed down a bit, I was able to properly analyze the situation. And I saw the irony of it all: I, who was so eager to criticize Poirot for his vanity, tended to be egocentric as well. There were so many times, when I ignored the seriousness of the situation and, just like I did today, without asking beforehand, took matters into my own hands. Just because I wanted to impress the man, who I cared for. Thank God, that we were dealing with a theft this time and not with somebody’s life being in danger! My little investigation could have had tragic consequences if the latter was the case! If it wasn’t lady Yardly but a murderer, who had visited me that day, during Poirot’s absence, I would practically give them an alibi! Poirot would never, ever make such a careless mistake! It seemed to me, that he never made mistakes…

“When one is unique, one knows it.” Is what he has told me two days prior to the whole affair with Marry Marvell and her diamond. Back then I thought, that he was being too vain for his own good. Now, however, I had to admit, that his self-confidence was more than justified.

Hercule Poirot was unique, one of a kind type of person. Tactful, elegant, a talented detective, whose genious outshined that of the specialists from the Scotland Yard. Nature has gifted him with both incredible personal charm and high intelligence. When I thought about it this way, why _would_ he be modest? He was someone special and he was well aware of that.

I was finally able to see the painful truth: what had been frustrating me was not my partner’s self-confidence, but my own shortcomings. Who was Arthur Hastings, exactly? An average man who, when it came to crime-solving, didn’t even come close to his magnificent lover. I loved and admired Poirot so naturally, I wanted to keep being attractive to him, to ‘speak in his language’, if you will. Too bad, that I yearned to impress him in that one area, that I was absolutely useless in.

Those new revelations made me able to see Poirot’s earlier responses to me in a new light. And yet, that was no excuse for the way he treated me that day. I had to admit, although reluctantly, that we were both to blame for the current situation…

The sun had started to set so I decided to head back. I was debating whether or not to have supper by myself somewhere – I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner. I didn’t feel like eating though so in the end, I passed.

I reached Whiteheaven Mansions and started to climb the stairs, feeling more and more ashamed with each step. I knew, that the confrontation with Poirot was inevitable. My pride however, was stopping me from admitting my own mistakes. And then, the alternative solution came to me.

Oh how glad I was, that I always kept the key to the second apartment in my pocket! I kept it with me, in order to make it seem, like I actually lived in that flat, but today was the day, when I was actually going to use it! Yes, that’s an idea: I will stay here for tonight – I told myself – Poirot will worry about me a little and I will have some time to think it all through and to decide what to tell him tomorrow.

I found the right key, opened the door and, as quietly as I could (as if poirot could hear me from the apartment above…), sneaked inside.

I felt depressed. The flat, practically unlived in after the past owner had moved out, was dark, empty and quiet. I could still see the remains of the minimalistic décor, that the past owner must had been fond of. The placement of the rooms was identical to the one in Poirot’s and mine apartment, the atmosphere however, was as far from it as possible. Poirot liked spaces, that were decorated with splendor, gusto and ones, that were being ruled by symmetry. In our home, everything had its place, and even though following the strict placement rules for every item had been the source of constant frustration to me, now I found myself longing for the neatness and order of our apartment. I found myself longing for Poirot. I felt the shame for my current failure with the case welling up in me.

I let out a long sigh and reluctantly dragged myself towards the bathroom to do the evening toilet. Of course, I didn’t have any change of clothes with me, so I had to wear my undershirt and underwear as my night clothes. To be quite honest, I didn’t even know if the bed in the main bedroom was made. I didn’t pay attention to it during my last visit here. Oh well, nevermind. All I wanted in that moment was to burry my face in a pillow and sleep through the rest of the evening, forgetting about the events from the last two days.

I entered the bedroom and switched on the light… and almost got a heart attack! I gasped in shock, because there was a person sitting on my bed!

I couldn’t believe my eyes: Poirot, small and elegant, was sitting at the edge of my bed and was looking at me. There was a moment of silence between us.

“Ah, I have been expecting you here, _mon amour_.” He said finally.

“What are you doing here?!” I tried to hide the happiness in my voice.

“ _C’est_ _évident! 4_ I have been waiting for you, mon cher Arthur.” He seemed…embarrassed. “At first I thought, that I shall, perhaps, give you some time for yourself. However, when you strode out, shutting the door behind you so violently and without even taking your coat (during such a horrible weather!) I knew, that you will not be coming back home to me tonight. I had no other choice, but to go to the one place, where I was most likely to find you. I wanted to talk…”

Poirot seemed distracted by something. Suddenly, it had occurred to me, that said distraction was me in the (almost) nude. I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my lips. It didn’t go unnoticed by my private detective.

“Besides, I simply… missed you during these few, mercilessly long hours. I wanted to see you as soon as possible, _et vou? 5_” He risked with a shyness, that was quite unlike him.

“I missed you too.” I confessed. Slowly, I strolled through the bedroom and sat beside him at the edge of the bed. Poirot was observing each and every step of my journey. I knew, that he liked what he saw. Nothing fed my self-confidence like the knowledge, that I was the object of Poirot’s desires. I cleared my throat. “which doesn’t change the fact, that I’m still angry at you.” I didn’t sound very convincing.

“I know, _mon amour_. That is why I am here: I wanted to apologize. I did not intend to hurt your feelings and neither did I try to, as you have called it, ‘make a complete fool out of you’.

You didn’t have to – I thought – I did that all by myself.

“you see, I was placed in a situation most difficult. I went for a walk in order to think and plan out the next steps, that I was about to take in order to solve the problem of _mademoiselle Marvell_. Upon my return I am informed, that lady Yardly came here to see me during my absence and _ma foi! 6 Mon plus cher7_ had taken it upon himself to question her on my behalf – and he is so very proud of himself! What to do… My Hastings has good heart. I know, that he had noble intentions, but he ended up complicating the case at hand. If I was to tell him about this right now, I would hurt his pride! And the investigation was still in its beginning stages… _Non!_ This was not the right moment. And so, I had decided to indulge you, allowing you to keep smiling to yourself, proud of your theories, while I was fully focusing on seeing the case to its end. Back then, it appeared to be the best solution to me but now I realize, that I had made a mistake. I admit it: I went too far. I allowed my feelings to take the better of me and I had become acrimonious. I assure you, that I was not having fun at your expense, _au contraire! 8 _I was hurt also. Poirot, he sometimes feels, that _le Plus Cher Hastings_ doesn’t appreciate him enough. Today, while I was waiting for your return, I allowed myself to read the draft of your unfinished report from our last case. And what is it, that My Dearest wrote about me?” Here, he looked at me for emphasis. I could feel myself blush in embarrassment. “That my judgment of the situation has ‘almost made you laugh’! you even mentioned yourself, that I was ‘demonstrating a untypical for me blindness of the mind’. If it was truly so untypical of me, then why were you so quick to believe in it?”

“Because I am a fool.” I mumbled. His speech had touched me deeply and I had to admit, that what he had said was true. Poirot deserved an apology as well. “I’m truly sorry, Hercule. I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was so self-assured, that I couldn’t see the truth. I complicated your, already difficult, job when in reality, I just wanted to… - I cut myself off, unable to finish.

“I know.” He whispered tenderly, pulling me into an embrace. “My Arthur has a kind heart but not enough self-confidence. He is able to only see his shortcomings, not realizing his strengths! Did I not tell you a few days ago, _mon adore 9_? I do firmly believe, that when one is unique, it is difficult to not be aware of it. That is why it pains me to see, that there is somebody who is so special and unique, who does not possess such awareness. Somebody who isn’t aware of his own magnitude.” He looked me in the eyes with complete, unwavering adoration. My heart skipped a bit. “You are one of a kind: a brave, handsome captain with an honest heart and strong moral values. I beg of you, _mon amour_ , do not call yourself a fool ever again.”

“All right…” I whispered in response, not sure what else to say. I hugged him tighter. I loved that man and his perceptiveness. “I promise to trust your instincts more from now on, even if I won’t be able to understand your actions.” I said, when I finally got my voice back. “Promise me however, that you won’t withhold important information from me; anything, that could potentially put your life in danger.”

“I promise you, _mon cher_. I would never dare to withhold an information of such great importance from you. Ah, while we are on the subject, I feel obligated to confess, that keeping the solution of a case to myself to the very end is a little weakness of mine…”

I couldn’t repress a smile spreading across my lips at that remark.

“Please, promise me something as well, _mon amour_. Promise, that won’t feel agitated by my attempts to encourage you to make your own deductions. Poirot, he does not try to insult you, he only wants to teach you how to speak in his language. Because you are important to him, _mon adore_.

“Then we have a deal, my dearest!” I kissed him on the forehead. I had felt so much better at that moment, after we talked everything out. “But the one, who breaks his promise first, will have to wash the dishes for a week!” I joked. As I expected, Poirot reacted to the idea with horror and utter indignation.

“ _Non, non, non!_ There is no way, that I would allow you to attempt cleaning the dishes! Last time I did so, you had placed the wine glasses in the sink, alongside the rest of the dishes, instead of carefully rinsing them in a special dish with clean water, prepared beforehand for this very task! To place the glasses in the sink with the dirty dishes, _ma foi!_ Such action should be considered a sin!”

I started to laugh wholeheartedly at this lecture.

“My beloved Hercule! Please, don’t you ever change!”

“and you also, _mon adore_. Please, don’t ever change.” He murmured, pulling me down into a kiss.

My God! It was heavenly to be able to taste his lips after the entire day of separation. Poirot must had felt the same way, because he slipped his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss and exploring me greedily. We kept kissing for a long while, enjoying each other eagerly. It would definitely last longer (and I did intend to keep going…) if it wasn’t for my empty stomach finally reminding me about its needs. Audibly.

Poirot chuckled, departing.

“I haven’t eaten anything since I left home.” I explained, slightly embarrassed.

“I thought so. _Eh bien 10_, Hastings, allow me to save you from your troubles! I brought some ingredients with me so if you would follow me to the kitchen, I will make you the the famous _omelette a la Poirot_.11”

“Oh Poirot, I love you so much!” I gasped.

“I know, _mon amour_. I love you too.” He sent me a playful smile. “so let us not allow your stomach to suffer any further. And for the love of god, Arthur! Please put some clothes on…

“I know, I know. Otherwise I will catch a cold.” I said with amusement.

“…Otherwise Poirot will inevitably lose the last remains of his self-control.” He petted my tight suggestively.

“Oh… well, I suppose I could put something on, if it distracts you _this_ much.” I whispered, kissing his ear and watching, with satisfaction, how he trembles with arousal.

“ _Immediat_ _èment! 12_ “ He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. I chuckled directly into his ear, making him shiver some more.

“Okay, fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing you now!” I moved away from him, albeit reluctantly. I got up with the intention of dressing up.

A few minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table of the third floor flat and observed Poirot, who was making a fluffy, delicious-looking omelet for me.

“you know, _mon amour_ ,” He mused, still working on his masterpiece “The omelets made on this frying pan are really tasty.

“You say?” That’s interesting – I thought – how does he know that? I don’t recall a single time when we cooked anything in this kitchen at all. “Come to think of it it’s a pity, that we don’t spend any time here.” I thought out loud. “This is a jolly nice flat, but it keeps sitting here abandoned.

“ _Mais oui, c’est une idee, ca! 13_ We shall move into this apartment from time to time! How about we spend the night here? Or perhaps even eat dinner here tomorrow?”

“That’s a brilliant idea! Besides, you have missed me so much, that I doubt you could withstand yhe long climb to the flat one floor above.” I couldn’t help myself.

Poirot’s eyes at that moment spoke more than a thousand words. The best feeling in the world has to be the certainty, that you are being desired by the one you love.

-FIN

________________________________________________

**Translations:**

  1. “No no, my love!”
  2. “My dear Arthur”
  3. “My God!”
  4. “That’s obvious!”
  5. “And you?”; here: “What about you?”
  6. Here: “Good grief!”
  7. “My Beloved”
  8. “On the contrary!”
  9. “My adored/my love”
  10. Here: “let it be (that way)”
  11. The exact recipe for Poirot’s Omelet has to be one of the greatest unsolved mysteries in crime fiction! He solved the mystery of the Black Coffee and the secret behind the Christmas Pudding but never did he reveal to us the biggest mystery of them all… Such is the nature of Poirot.
  12. “Immediately!”
  13. “That’s it! That’s an idea!”




End file.
